What Doesn't Kill Us
by Guardian Spirit
Summary: The Elrics destroy a town, Breda cracks jokes, and Roy tries valiantly to remain professional while ignoring the fact that he'd really like to see Riza Hawkeye with her clothes off.
1. Chapter 1

The town was bathed in orange and gold; sunlight streamed in through the morning haze, penetrating each crevice of the buildings that dotted the cobble stoned streets. Everything was silent and beautiful, sleepy villagers waking up in their sleepy little town, awaiting the day, awaiting life.

Everything was silent except for at the center where, if one listened close enough, they could hear the faint beginnings of the universe set to implode.

"Fullmetal, I am about _this_ close to having your state registration revoked!"

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault! What was I supposed to do? Let them go?!"

Roy brushed a finger against his temple. Before him lay the remains of what at one point in time may have been called a town square, though the damage imparted allowed for no recognition of form or purpose: it was merely dust and rumble piled on the remains of what he was sure had been meticulous landscaping. He still wasn't sure what Ed had done, but the violent nature of his actions was quite clear, though it was yet to be determined whether or not the poor town square had warranted such a beating.

"Tell me again what happened?"

Edward sighed heavily (as if _they_ were the ones inconveniencing _him_). Roy had half a mind to hit him across the head, discipline him like he was sure his father never had, but he stifled the impulse as the younger man opened his mouth to speak.

"They were robbing that corner market," he motioned to a building off to his right, it's aging exterior pristine in comparison to the mess before them, "so I stopped them."

"Yes, you've told me all that. I want to know exactly what this stopping entailed."

Ed ran a hand across his automail shoulder. "Al and I read about this new kind of alchemy. Close range explosives or some shit. How was I supposed to know it'd be so powerful?"

Roy suppressed a groan, covering his eyes with his hands. "And why did you continue to use it after the first blast?"

"Because it was _awesome_."

Edward Elric would be the death of him.

* * *

Cleanup went swiftly after Roy allocated the rest of Ed's funds for the month towards hiring a crew to sort through the rubble. Roy stayed only long enough to ensure that no further damage would be done by the young alchemist. He left Breda in charge of reconstruction (poor soul) and then caught the next train back to Central, back to paperwork, plotting treason and subordinates who _listened_, dammit. No one turned him on to office work quite like the Elrics.

Across from him in the compartment Havoc plucked a cigarette from his pocket and stretched, arms just grazing the low ceiling above them. "Do you think Edward ever _thinks_ when he does things? Or is he just driven by some psychotic rage whenever his sense of justice is being threatened?" He dangled the cigarette between his fingers, bringing it to his face, "remember last month? When he saw that old lady's purse get stolen? I'm _still_trying to get permission to fix all those streetlights."

Roy groaned. He remembered that very, _very_ well. Too well, in fact. He would have to do something to remedy that. Scotch, perhaps? Nameless women? A bullet to the brain? Nothing seemed too outlandish at this point.

Havoc studied the cigarette in his hands. His brow furrowed in concentration for a few moments and then, having seemingly made up his mind, he gestured towards Roy. "Mind lighting this for me, Chief?"

"Yes, he does mind," the sliding door opened and Hawkeye snatched the cigarette from Havoc's hands, pocketing it in her jacket. Havoc made a motion to protest, but Hawkeye stopped him, stating in a stern voice, "you'll get it back when we get to the station," and took her seat next to Roy. She looked tired, he noticed, but then again dealing with Edward Elric tended to do that to people. He was feeling _exhausted_.

"The conductor says we should arrive in ten minutes, sir."

Roy turned to look at her. "Oh? But I was having such a lovely time, riding this train with my wonderful subordinates who don't destroy unsuspecting buildings or undermine me at all."

Havoc made a choking noise from across the aisle. "Right, because yesterday when Hawkeye called you an idiot in front of the entire office that didn't undermine your authority _at all_."

Roy chuckled, "Ah yes, he is right, Hawkeye. Perhaps you're better suited to tag along on the adventures of Edward and Alphonse, brothers in insubordination and destruction?"

Hawkeye crossed her legs and leaned back against the seat, "I was only stating the truth. If you really want to waste half your funds hosting parties for higher ups, then by all means," she swept her arm emphatically into the air.

Havoc leaned forward. "You hear that, Chief? Operation Drink The Opposition Into Submission is back on!"

"You're _both_ idiots," Hawkeye groaned under her breath.

She might have had a point.

* * *

The office might have been cleaner than when they had left, Roy noted as he entered. Papers that had cluttered his desk earlier were now neatly stacked and signed (forged), pens returned to ink wells, books no longer falling off shelves. The file cabinets, which had been overflowing for weeks (Hawkeye maintained that the phenomenon had existed since the dawn of time, but Roy thought she was exaggerating), were now neatly closed, their contents hidden within their shiny, metal... wait, had someone polished the file cabinets?

This, Roy reminded himself, was why he left Fuery and Falman in charge.

"Greetings, my darling soldiers! How I've missed you!" his voiced boomed across the office walls. Fuery and Falman lifted their heads from their desks and stared at Havoc, who entered in behind Roy.

"Ed destroyed a town," Havoc offered by way of explanation.

"Yes, a town, and it's been... what? A few hours since? He could be halfway to Eastern by now with poor Breda lying dead in a ditch. Death by midget alchemist. How awful. Do you think Fullmetal would have to cut Breda's legs down first so he could see the rest of him in order to attack?"

"Sir, I don't think that's an appropriate discussion to be having during work hours," Hawkeye entered the office, arms full with paperwork, her eyes disapproving in a manner Roy had become accustomed to. Ah, good old Hawkeye. Always there to set them back on track.

Fuery took the momentary disruption in conversation to stand, facing towards his superior. "Sir," he reached a finger up to reposition his glasses, "while you were gone Falman and I took the liberty of doing a little office maintenance. In the process we managed to find several folders worth of unsigned work, along with..."

Roy saw Hawkeye still from the corner of his eye and practically leapt across the room to stop this train wreck before it began, his hand landing firmly against Fuery's shoulder. "Yes, I noticed I could see my reflection in the file cabinets even as I approached headquarters. Excellent job, you two. Now, I'm sorry I can't stay and talk about the specifics, but you'll notice the Lieutenant has left a sizable amount of work in my inbox. Better get to it!"

"But sir, there were at _least_ three folders worth, if not-"

Roy patted the younger man vigorously on the shoulder, "Yes, yes, Sergeant, I understand. We will deal with this later."

Striding to his desk Roy tried to ignore the look Hawkeye was giving him, which was difficult because she was terrifying.

Once seated at his desk, Roy reached towards the (monstrous, never-ending, heart attack inducing) stack of papers and grabbed the first one. He decided as a peace offering for the recently discovered weeks worth of paperwork he had stashed away that he would at least read this one (lest she quiz him later).

It was a request, simple enough. Requests were generally easy to rule on, since they required hardly any difficult thinking. You want more ammunition for the firing range? Done. Paperclips to finish building that impressive, two foot tall replica of the Central City Library? Awesome, but no. This request would be no different, he mused, as the author was asking for... 10,000 roses? What? Why on earth would they be asking him for that? Roy skimmed the paper again and this time his eyes caught the heading, which addressed it to the committee in charge of banquets and formal events. Misplaced, then. He set it aside and reached for the second piece of paper.

This one was a report, upsettingly enough. Reports involved concentration and actual reading, which Roy was not such a fan of. He loved reading in his spare time, to be sure, but the kinds of reports written by military officials were less than desirable; not like the books that scattered across his bedroom floor, poetry and chemical equations that were light years preferable to this. Yet somehow he would endure for the sake of his country (and his life, for he was sure Hawkeye would end it if he added to the aforementioned folders. He would have to teach Fuery to be a little more discrete next time. With his fists.)

Roy lifted his pen and steeled himself to concentrate. Once again he skimmed the pages, trying valiantly not to fall asleep while reading the author's lengthy explanations of budgeting, allocation of funds, and... chocolate cake? Was someone playing a joke on him? Roy flipped the page over to make sure it hadn't been a mistake and found the same heading as the last one staring back at him. Had someone mixed up these papers with his?

Leafing through the rest of the stack, Roy discovered that all of the papers were addressed to the Committee of Banquets and Formal Events. He frowned, his voice littered with confusion as he lifted his head to stare at Hawkeye. "Lieutenant, it seems you've given me the wrong stack of paperwork."

Hawkeye stopped whatever she was doing and turned to look at him. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, it's possible our duties have been expanded to include decorating for next month's gala, but I find that highly unlikely considering, well, everything."

Hawkeye frowned as she approached his desk. Roy leaned back in his chair to allow her more room as she leafed through the paperwork herself, watching as each request for pastries and folding chairs was taken in by her critical gaze. After a few moments her frown deepened. "I'm sorry, sir. There must have been a mistake. I'll fix this right away."

The rest of the inhabitants of the office watched as she collected the stack of papers into her arms and swiftly exited the room. Once the door was shut, Havoc leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk, and stared at Roy. "Decorations would have been good for the parties, Colonel."

Roy turned to study his reflection in one of the file cabinets. "Good thinking! Write me a report on the merits of ribbons versus streamers and have it on my desk by the end of the day," he turned to his subordinates with a grin, "and don't be sloppy. I want research. I'll have you know Sergeant Connors wrote a beautiful piece on the benefits of chocolate cake versus vanilla. Don't let yourself be outdone by a Sergeant, Second Lieutenant."

Fuery, their resident Sergeant, stared at him indignantly. The men laughed before turning back to their individual work, visions of beautiful gown-clad women and delicious pastries no doubt clouding what concentration they had left. Roy continued to study his reflection (he was such a handsome devil), resigning himself to wait - what was taking so long, anyway? - until Hawkeye, the harbinger of monotony, returned.

He was only somewhat less enthused when the correct stack ended up being twice as large. A miracle, really. He would remind her to thank Edward Elric for that.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

"Sir, Breda's on the line. It's about Fullmetal again."

Maybe he'd just have her kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah Breda," Roy's voice dripped with sarcasm, "to what do I owe the pleasure so soon?"

On the other end Breda hesitated and cleared his throat. Roy's life suddenly flashed in front of his eyes.

"Fullmetal didn't level the entire town, did he?" Heads whipped up from their desks to stare at their Colonel in absolute horror. Hawkeye reached for the drawer that held the accident reports.

"No," Breda responded and Roy let out the biggest breath of his life.

"So then what is it?"

"We ran into some problems," Breda reported frankly, "structural problems, you might call them," and then quieter than his first admission, "we found this huge array at the base of one of the buildings Ed destroyed. Now I'm no alchemist, but something about it just doesn't seem right. None of the guys here can make heads or tails of it."

Roy's interest was instantly peaked. "An array?" he swiveled his chair to face away from the office door. "Describe it to me."

"Not that I'm particularly knowledgeable about alchemy, but something about it... It's real complicated; more detail than I've ever seen in an array before. There's lots of shapes and they're all interlocking with one another. There's some writing on it and it's definitely not any language I'm familiar with. It was hidden under the foundation, so it's possible it could have just been an innocent mistake, but the way it was buried... Whoever put it there was really deliberate about what they were doing."

Roy reached into his breast pocket for his notebook, "what does the writing look like?"

"It's definitely some sort of ancient writing. I'd say the closest thing I could compare it to is ancient Dracman, but even that...," and then as if letting his excitement get the better of him, Breda urged, "It's strange, Roy. It's really strange. I definitely think you should come take a look."

"Well if you think it would be for the best," Roy's voice boomed throughout the room as he swiveled his chair back around, "then I have no choice but to return. Structural problems may not be my strong point, but as a minister to the people I have no qualms about lending my aid. I will be on the next train out of Central."

Breda grunted, "I knew you would, Sir."

Roy hung up the phone with a satisfying clack and then turned towards the remaining inhabitants of his office. "Well kiddies, looks like we're going on another trip!"

The resulting groan that erupted from their mouths was almost inaudible.

Almost.

* * *

The train ride this time went quicker than the last - there were no longer questions of "oh God, are the Elrics dead? Is everyone dead? Am _I_ dead?" No, instead there was excitement, tension, and Falman's snoring which, on any given day might have thrown Roy into fits, but not now. Not when mysterious alchemy loomed on the horizon.

Doodling in his notebook, Roy continued to wrack his brain. Ancient writing... what ancient civilizations had existed to the west? There was Xerxes, of course, but although their spread had extended across current day Amestris, they had mostly inhabited the east... There were the Alethian people, but their writing system had been almost entirely nonexistent, rather they relied more on oral traditions... It wasn't Xingese and it wasn't Aerugan (Breda would have recognized either of those), so then what was it?

A loud snore escaped Falman's mouth. Roy reached across the aisle and kicked him, waking the Warrant Officer with a start.

"What? Ah, oh, Colonel?"

Roy tapped the pen against his jaw, "Falman, what civilizations existed to the west pre-Creta?"

As Falman furrowed his brow, Roy wondered if he knew how disheveled his hair was. He looked every bit of the mad intellectual they had pinned him to be. If only Havoc were awake, Roy shot a glance to the sleeping man to his left, he would love to see this. Perhaps he'd wake him? Or take a picture? No, better to hold this little scene against him. He so loved to tease the Second Lieutenant, after all.

Falman cleared his throat. "Well, the Cretans have existed there for at least two hundred years, but before that there were the Erosophians, the Anathemians, the Archaedemans, and then a series of small tribal groups who shared the territory after the destruction of Xerxes."

Roy nodded. "And what sort of civilizations were these? Did they have any sort of formal writing system?"

"Well, the Erosophians wrote hundreds upon thousands of texts. Much of pre-Cretan history is understood because of them. Their writing is fairly similar to Cretan, which makes it easy to translate." Not them, Roy frowned, Breda would have recognized the similarities. Falman continued, "the Anathemians were a warring people, which accounts for their swift destruction of the Archaedeman peoples. Their leader was actually a descendant of the Archaedemans interestingly enough. He found fault with the current Archaedeman rulers. You see they were an oligarchy, but he was much more interested in a form of dictatorship-"

"Falman."

"Sorry," the older man scratched his head, "I get carried away sometimes. What was it we were talking about? The writing systems?"

"Yes, the writing systems."

"Well," Falman readjusted his collar, "the Anathemians wrote a fair amount of things down. Their written language was more primitive than the Erosophians, obviously, and it's much more difficult to translate. However, there are several scholars located across Amestris that would be able to read it, if the need was there. As for the Archaedemans, they were largely a semi-nomadic people who relied mostly on oral tradition to record their history. There are a few instances of written text later on in their existence, but it isn't much. It's mostly pictographs and no one has been able to figure out-"

"Would you be able to recognize any of these writings if you saw them?" Roy interrupted.

Falman thought for a moment. "Well, I'd certainly recognize Erosophian and perhaps a few letters of Anathemian. I'm not so sure about Archaedeman."

Roy nodded, "Alright. Thank you, Warrant Officer. I'm sorry for waking you," and then, smirking as an afterthought, "but your snoring was horrendous. I'm surprised the people in the next car didn't complain."

"It's no worse than yours, Colonel." Roy tried not to jump as Hawkeye's voice suddenly pierced the quiet air. He failed quite miserably.

"Ah, Lieutenant, I didn't know you were awake!"

"She's right you know," Falman nodded. "If there's anyone who should be complaining it's us. Office hours are dreadful with that racket."

Roy folded his arms and regarded Falman cooly. "I take offense to that."

"Perhaps you should reconsider your methods of travel?" Hawkeye responded flatly, "superiors are allowed their own accommodations, after all."

Roy turned his attention towards the remainder of his sleeping subordinates and suppressed a smile, "ah, but why would I want to miss all this?"

Hawkeye just shook her head. "You shouldn't complain then, sir." Roy watched as she shifted her body weight, crossing her legs at the ankles. A stray hair fell in front of her face and he thought to reach out and brush it away, but he ignored the impulse. And it was fine, really, because a moment later she had taken care of it herself. Wasn't that typical Hawkeye? Always on top of things.

Shaking his head, Roy turned back to Falman, "so, what was that you were saying about the Anathemian leader?"

Falman's face brightened instantly, "Oh, well you see, the Archaedeman hierarchy in place was..."

Roy folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. Every bit of information could be important, he reminded himself, and so for the rest of the train ride he listened carefully as Falman babbled on, trying his hardest to formulate some sort of thesis. What on earth could this array be that had Breda so concerned?

* * *

"We found it underneath this building," Breda offered, gesturing towards a large pile of rubble. "We had a team working on removing these stones and then there it was."

"And the men who saw it?" Roy asked.

"Already taken care of," Breda responded, "I debriefed them myself. Said it was some sort of graffiti from local kids. They lost interest real quick."

"Good." Roy knelt down above the array and ran his fingers along the edge, careful not to touch any part that might activate it. Complicated, he now agreed, was the right way to describe it. Never before in his life had he seen so many geometrical patterns and shapes in one space. It was large too, covering about 3 feet in diameter. The words and the letters that composed them were nothing like he had ever seen before. There were no noticeable similarities to any language he knew. Roy rested his arms against his thighs. Yes, Breda was right to call him.

"The building that stood here had been there for centuries," Breda explained, "it was left to the owner by his father, who inherited it from his father, and so on. Ed and Al have been talking to the townspeople to see what they know, but so far it isn't much. I had thought to go look in the town archives to see if I could find anything concrete about it's history, but I figured I'd wait to see what you thought first."

Roy nodded. "Falman, do you recognize any of the words on this thing?"

Falman stepped forward and knelt beside Roy. He regarded the array carefully. "Well, it isn't Erosophian, I can tell you that much."

"What about Anathemian or Archaedeman?"

"I can't say for certain," Falman frowned. "Like I said, I can only recognize a little bit of Anathemian, but the patterns seem to indicate that it may have come from that alphabet. Archaedeman, from what I've heard, consists mostly of pictographs and these," he gestured, "look a lot more like letters to me."

Roy clapped Falman on the back, "well alright, we'll start from there. Breda, continue to oversee clean up as normal. Make sure no one else comes near here, but don't be suspicious about it. We don't want anyone snooping around. Falman, I want you and Fuery to go look around the archives for anything that may be useful. If they ask, say it's research for the rebuilding. Zoning disputes or something of that nature. Havoc, find the Elric boys and see what they've got, if anything. Everyone meet back here in two hours. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" the men chorused before going their separate ways. Roy turned towards Hawkeye.

"Lieutenant, I want you to stay with me. I'd like to study the array and make some copies in my notebook. We're going to have to-" his train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt as Hawkeye moved past him and knelt down at the array. "What? What are you- Hawkeye, I wasn't done speaking yet. I know you're eager to get to work and I commend you for that, you know I always have, but honestly I'd appreciate it if you showed a little more respect for me, seeing as I'm-"

Whatever Roy was going to say next fell flat as she turned to meet his gaze. "Sir," her voice was low. Roy felt his entire body tense.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

She turned back towards the array, resting a palm on the ground. "I've seen these symbols before."


	3. Chapter 3

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. "What do you mean you've seen them before?"

Hawkeye's eyes never left the ground. He watched as her back rose and fell with each breath; it was the only sign of movement. The rest of her body was still. "My father used to draw them in his study." She made no move to stand.

Roy's stomach knotted, "What? Do... do you think... is it related to..." his voice trailed off. Related to what? To him? To his array? Was this another one of those moments where she would speak cryptically, lure him into her bedroom and then strip without explanation, sending him into a panic? (Although... he might not mind that so much. They were older now than that time and, well, he had been noticing with more frequency lately how pretty she was and- stop it, Mustang! She's telling you something important!)

To his relief, Hawkeye shook her head.

"No," she answered, standing, "this was after he had already completed that array. I don't know what they were for, but I know he never finished whatever he was working on."

"Do you know what your father might have wanted with them?" he asked hopefully.

For a moment Hawkeye faltered. "No," she responded, "I'm sorry." She glanced at the side of his face and immediately Roy felt guilty.

"It's fine. Once we regroup with the others we might want to discuss perhaps paying your... Well, I might want to gather some of your father's research, if that's alright with you. You could accompany me, of course," he added quickly. Roy felt apprehensive about this. The elder Hawkeye was a sensitive subject between the two of them and he wasn't... He didn't know what sort of secrets (emotions) looking into more of his research would dredge up. "What do you think?"

Hawkeye nodded and Roy felt as if a tiny weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Yes," she agreed, "I think that would be best."

"Good," Roy responded, "In the meantime..." he reached forward to grasp her shoulder, "are you _sure _there aren't any other tattoos you've got lurking underneath there? I'd be crushed to find out all these years you've been doling out other secrets to other men."

"I'm sure," she deadpanned, but the creases around her eyes softened. Roy released his grip and relocated his hands to his hips.

"Really? Because I'm not so sure. I could have _sworn _I'd seen a hint of something the other day as you were filing things, right above your hip bone, and as your commander I order you to reveal any sort of tattoo, piercing, or what have you that may be hiding behind that tight black shirt you insist on always wearing. Not that I'm complaining. It does give a rather nice view of your-"

The slap he received was entirely worth it.

* * *

The sun hung low in the sky. Roy paused for a moment, surveying the array before him. He had lost count of how many times he had copied it, but still, _still_, he could not figure out it's purpose. Behind him Hawkeye stood, her back to him, careful eyes watching for any unsuspecting person who may interrupt their work. His cheek still smarted from earlier and he wondered sometimes if she deliberately put him in these situations so she could abuse him without the threat of a court martial. Honestly, what purpose could such a form fitting shirt serve _besides _to make the men oogle her? It wasn't waterproof, or bulletproof, and while an argument _could _be made for aerodynamics he didn't think that was the reasoning behind her choice of wardrobe. No, sex appeal was the most fitting explanation. Hawkeye, he grinned, you saucy minx.

Returning his thoughts to the array (yes, he reminded himself, you do have actual work to attend to) Roy frowned. Twenty minutes ago he had considered calling in Armstrong for help (the Elrics were of course no more than a few miles away, but there was _no way_ _in hell _he was asking Fullmetal for help), but he had brushed off the idea with his elevated sense of pride and ego. Now, unfortunately, the need for another alchemist's expertise was seeming more plausible. He fumbled with his notebook.

"Lieutenant, do you have any idea about Major Armstrong's whereabouts currently?"

Hawkeye shifted, head tilted slightly towards her commanding officer, one eye still trained on the surrounding streets. "I believe he is up North," she responded, "visiting his sister."

Roy's frown deepened. "For how long?"

Hawkeye shook her head. "I'm not certain, Sir. I remember hearing he left a few days ago."

So much for help, Roy sighed to himself, flipping to a clean sheet in his notebook. There were certainly other alchemists he could call in, but other alchemists he could not trust, save for the rambunctious, headache inducing two that got them in this mess in the first place. "Thank you, Lieutenant." She nodded and turned her attention back to her surveillance duties.

So far the only clue he had to go on was Hawkeye's admission that her father had somehow known of this array. What he wanted with it, though, was entirely a mystery. Another fire-related alchemy, perhaps? He wasn't aware the elder Hawkeye had ever dabbled in anything else, but his scientist's brain told him not to rule out the possibility. Specialties did not mean a lack of interest in everything besides. This conclusion left him with the idea that the array could be fire, or it could be anything, which was really helpful in the long run and he was glad he had been raised with such good deductive skills. At this point, Roy was tempted to just slap his hands down and hope for the best, but opted to go the more thoughtful route of not acting like a complete asshole. His mother would be proud.

Behind him, footsteps approached, and he heard Hawkeye slide her hand easily to her holster.

"Hey, Chief! How's it going?" Breda called, ambling up to them in that careful, casual way that told Roy there was work to be done. Breda was really good at that, pretending nothing was going on even when everything was. They could blow up Central Command and he would still be asking where they were going that night for drinks. Breda was cool under pressure. Roy really appreciated that.

Roy stood and gestured dramatically towards his discarded notepad and pen. "Wonderfully! I'm certain of two things: one, it's an array, and two, I have no idea what it does."

Breda scratched his chin. "Well, since you've obviously exhausted our resources here, mind coming to take a look at some stuff Falman and Fuery dug up?"

"Is it useful?"

"Maybe," Breda shrugged.

Roy snorted, "you should be a salesman."

Hawkeye rolled her eyes. "Let's go," she said and started striding purposefully towards the archives.

Breda turned to him. "Well, at least someone's taking charge."

"Shut up."

* * *

The town archives were housed in a small, dingy building on the western side of town. Falman and Fuery had done a good job of commandeering all 300 square feet of it from the town historian, who sat on an outside bench looking mildly put off. As the three of them approached, he gave them a scathing look, but said nothing. Roy did his best to reassure the man that they would in no way damage or take anything inside, but he seemed unconvinced. As a show of good faith, Roy took off his gloves. Fire was the last thing this man wanted near his documents.

The inside of the archives was not much more impressive than the exterior, save for the filled bookcases lining the walls. In the center of the room sat two tables, one larger than the other. Fuery, Falman, and Havoc (who obviously hadn't located the Elrics, which could either be good or bad) stood clustered around the larger one, a pile of pulled materials at their disposal. As they approached, Falman leaned down to examine something. Everything smelled like musk.

"Well, what've you got?" Roy asked, pushing in front of Havoc to take a better look.

"Manuscripts," Fuery responded, "and some old maps. There's also a few books we found detailing the town and three civilizations' histories, but those won't be much use until we narrow down which the array comes from. Which we haven't."

"Why not?"

"A lot of this stuff has been damaged, or it doesn't quite match up with what we've seen. There aren't a lot of examples of the earlier forms of writing either."

"It's a lot of guesswork," Breda offered helpfully. Roy leaned over the table and surveyed the paper in front of them. It was filled with text he didn't recognize or understand.

Fuery nodded."Right."

"None of the patterns are consistent with either forms of writing," Falman furrowed his brow. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Wait," Roy moved forward, spreading his palms against the large manuscript, "you said the earlier Anathemians were descendants of the Archaedemans and not a separate invading people, correct?" Falman nodded and Roy continued. "So their relation to both civilizations might have allowed for some cultural similarities? Or diffusion, rather. They might have borrowed from one another while trying to stake out their own cultural identity."

"Yes," Falman responded, "but I'm not sure what that has to-" he stopped. "Wait. Yes, I see what you're saying." Falman reached underneath the table to retrieve a second manuscript, which he unrolled and spread out on top of the first. "If we look at both of these systems separately, the writing doesn't seem to match up with what we see on the array. But if we look at them _together_," his finger scrolled over the yellowed, wrinkled papers, "yes, yes I think that may be it!"

From behind them, Havoc moved to stand over the table. "So what you're saying is whoever made this probably spoke a language that combined both Anathemian and Archaedeman?" He chewed on his cigarette thoughtfully, "makes sense."

"Does it?" Hawkeye sounded skeptical on the best of days when faced with their intelligence gathering (it probably didn't help that Roy had once called it "men's work" in what was a stupid joke that ended with her proving all of them wrong with her superior deductive reasoning - what Havoc and him jokingly called woman's intuition, but not to her face). She moved to get a closer look and Roy stiffened as the fabric of her jacket brushed against his shoulder. He shivered. Three steps back she was not.

"I think it's as good a theory as anything, no?" Roy thundered, leaping back in a very unconvincing show of enthusiasm that was meant to force distance. Breda shot him a look. He ignored it.

Falman shrugged. "It's certainly worth investigating, sir. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes," Roy commanded. "Good work. All of you. Let's keep it up and see what else we can come up with. And Hawkeye," he turned towards his Lieutenant who, despite having practically assaulted him with her feminine wiles moments before, stared passively into his eyes, waiting for her next order. Talk about mixed signals.

"Hawkeye, call Headquarters and let them know that we might be a while. I trust you to think of a viable excuse."

"Yes, sir," she saluted and turned sharply towards the door.

The five remaining members of Team Mustang stood silently, eyes shifting between door frame and floor. Then Breda cleared his throat and all semblance of authority was shattered.

"Hawkeye looking a little too pretty for you today, Mustang?"

Roy blinked once, twice. Breda remained unblinking, staring defiantly into his face. Roy turned his body slowly towards Fuery, but kept his eyes trained on Breda like a bear stalking his prey. A big bear. Wild bear. Bear preparing for murder. "Sergeant, I want you to take note of this conversation, because when I charge Breda and Havoc with insubordination you will probably be the only witness I can trust."

"What did I do?!" Havoc sputtered, arms flailing in a way that really made Roy feel secure in his abilities as a sniper.

"Failure to follow orders, Lieutenant. Where are the Elrics?"

Havoc paused, his mouth hanging slightly open. "They're... around," he offered vaguely.

Palm, meet face. "Crack team we've built here, Hawkeye!" Roy yelled.

From the next room Hawkeye responded, never missing a beat, "but he sure is nice to look at!"

Roy was pretty sure he had never seen Havoc turn that shade of red before (or Falman, for that matter). Fuery, to his credit, remained remarkably impassive. (Fuery lived in the dorms, Roy reminded himself. This conversation was probably childs play in comparison to the unending debauchery he was used to. He probably found their antics cute. What an asshole.)

Breda cleared his throat, a glint in his eye, "guess she isn't the only one looking a little too pretty today, huh?"

"I'm seriously considering re-assigning you. You know that, right?"

And with that it was back to work.

* * *

A/N: I didn't mean for this entire chapter to just be like... Team Mustang sees who can outsnark one another (Breda is the clear winner), but that's obviously where my heart was at when I wrote it. Also is it clear that Roy finds Riza attractive? Is it? I don't think I've made it clear enough. I should probably make sure I state it more often. Roy is distracted by Hawkeye's good looks. He wants to bed her. Do you see? (Although judging by the weird sexual tension I created in that last section, it seems like everyone wants to make out with everyone. PERHAPS THERE'S A TEAM MUSTANG ORGY IN THE FUTURE?)

(Disclaimer: There will not be a Team Mustang orgy in the future. Sorry.)


End file.
